


Ferris Wheel

by spuffyduds



Category: due South
Genre: 100-1000 Words, Episode Related, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-08
Updated: 2010-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-06 00:26:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffyduds/pseuds/spuffyduds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Set during "Flashback."</p>
    </blockquote>





	Ferris Wheel

**Author's Note:**

> Set during "Flashback."

The strange thing was that it was the whole bizarre romantic _perfection_ of the incident on the train that made it so easy to put behind her. Because it was so manifestly unrelated to real life.

She'd had her first boyfriend at sixteen. And that was a pleasant experience. He was—inoffensive. Cheerful, undemanding. Kissing was entertaining, and he wasn't pressing for more. And then, after several weeks of dating, they went to a local fair—-got candyfloss and went up on the Ferris wheel. And there was a perfect cool breeze and they could see the lights of the town and their car was gently swaying, and Meg suddenly felt her heart swell and leap and swoon, it was all _new_, and she went home that night convinced she was madly in love, that she and Stephen were soulmates and would spend eternity together, and all these other sixteen-year-old things.

But some small part of Meg was always a good deal older than sixteen, and when she woke up the next morning she thought: wait. When I think about last night, I'm thinking about the lights and the candyfloss and the swaying car. I can't remember a single thing that Stephen said or did the whole evening. _Oh_.

So it was easy to package the train encounter up with that, to decide that it was all the adrenaline rush of probable imminent death, and the train swaying under their feet and the wind whooshing around them, beautiful scenery rushing by backwards, terrorists searching for them with guns.

Any man would have seemed impossibly sexy under those circumstances. _Turnbull_ would have seemed impossibly sexy.

Well, perhaps not. But _almost_ any man would have.

So, she moved on with surprising ease, and Constable Fraser, was, yes, noticeably attractive; but mostly he was her second-in-command, her responsibility; occasionally her cross to bear, because he was stubborn and wildly eccentric, and perhaps slightly unhinged.

Then Vecchio brought him to the consulate to help him recover his memories after a nasty blow to the head. And of course she was concerned for him on a basic human level, but also wondering whether it was appropriate to file workman's compensation papers for him when the injury had happened during a Chicago case and not a Canada case.

Then she suddenly realized: he doesn't remember the train. And was astonished at how sad a thought that was, that she was the only person with that memory now, that picture and sound and smell of the stupid, ridiculous, perfect moment on the train.

She gaped at him in what was probably a terribly unattractive manner, because all those sensations were coming back _hard_, and they were mixed up with the realization that the man in front of her was, to some degree at least, not Constable Fraser. He was _slouching_, sitting on the corner of her desk, hands in his _pockets_ for god's sake. She felt fairly certain that if she told him to straighten up he'd _laugh_ at her.

This was the same man who'd kissed her, yes. Fingerprints and DNA would indicate that this was the man who had--kissed the _hell_ out of her, actually. But she wasn't _this_ man's commanding officer.

She had to sit down on the desk too, rather suddenly. And after Vecchio had sighed, said, "Okay, next stop on Memory Lane," and led Fraser out of the consulate, she astonished Turnbull by giving herself the afternoon off.

 

\--END--


End file.
